Tom Swift and The Visitor from Planet X

by II Victor Appleton

  CHAPTER III

  REPORT FROM INTERPOL

  Tom, astonished, stared at the stranger.

  "Who are you?" the young inventor demanded.

  "Never mind who I am. Just do as I say!"

  By this time Tom had recovered from his surprise and coolly sized up hisenemy. The man was about thirty years old, with close-cropped blackhair. Steely eyes glinted in a lean, hard-jawed face.

  Tom wondered, "_Should I risk a fight? Or is he armed?_"

  As if in answer, the stranger growled, "I gave you an order, my friend.Don't press your luck! Get going!"

  As he spoke, the man thrust one hand deep into his coat pocket, and Tomfelt something hard poke against his ribs.

  The young inventor drove on, but proceeded slowly. He wanted time tothink. Presently Swift Enterprises, enclosed by a high wall, came intoview.

  Tom's brain was working fast. At last he decided on a ruse. He wouldhead for the main gate, get out, and use his electronic key withoutwaiting for the guard to admit him. At the same time, he would press asecret warning bell to alert the Swift security force.

  But the stranger seemed to read his thoughts. As Tom started to turn offtoward the main gate, his passenger snapped, "Go to the private gatewhich you and your father use!"

  "And if I refuse?"

  Again the hard object poked into his ribs. "You will be what you call inthis country a dead duck!" the stranger warned. "I will then let myselfin with your key!"

  Tight-lipped, Tom drove on another half mile, then turned in at theprivate gate. The man got out with him as Tom walked up to the gate andbeamed his electronic key at the hidden mechanism. Instantly the gateswung open, then closed again automatically after the car passedthrough.

  Tom parked in his usual spot. The stranger kept his hand in his pocket,still covering Tom but glancing around cautiously. The sprawlingexperimental station was a vast four-mile-square area with a cluster ofgleaming modern laboratory buildings and workshops. In the distance, atall glassed-in control tower overlooked Enterprises' long runways forjet planes.

  Suddenly the stranger stiffened. A paunchy, bowlegged figure, topped bya white Texas sombrero, was coming straight toward them.

  Tom's heart gave a leap of hope. The man was Chow Winkler, formerly achuck-wagon cook and now head chef for the Swifts' expeditions.

  "Hi, boss!" Chow bellowed in his foghorn voice. As usual he was wearinga gaudy cowboy shirt. "Who's the new buckaroo?" the cook added,squinting at the stranger with open but friendly curiosity.

  "Why--actually I don't know his name yet, but he's looking for a job,"Tom replied. Turning to the stranger, he added, "What _is_ your name,mister?"

  The stranger glared from Tom to Chow, as if not certain what to answer.

  Chow's eyes narrowed. He had detected something strange in the way Tomaddressed the fellow as "mister," and had also noticed how the man keptone hand hidden in his pocket. Looking to Tom for a lead, Chow suddenlynoticed the young inventor make a quick "thumbs down" gesture.

  "My name is..." The man's voice fell to a mumble, obscuring thesyllables. "Frankly I am not yet sure I desire a job here, but being anengineer, I thought perhaps--"

  [Illustration (Tom and Chow fight the intruder)]

  The man's gaze switched back to Tom, and in that instant Chow jumped theintruder. With surprising agility for his rotund bulk, the cook boredown on him and let fly a gnarled fist at the stranger's jaw. Tomfollowed up like lightning, grabbing the man's wrist and yanking hishand out of his pocket.

  He was clutching a snub-nosed automatic. Tom twisted it from his graspas the man landed, writhing on the hard ground. Chow quickly pinned hisother arm and drove a knee into the man's solar plexus.

  "Jest lie quiet now, you varmint, or you may git yourself roughed up abit," Chow warned, then added, "Who is he, Tom?"

  "Search me. He stopped my car on the road and forced me to drive him inthrough the private gate. Boy, was I ever glad to see you, old-timer!"

  Tom emptied out the clip of shells. Then he searched the stranger whileChow continued holding him down. The man carried no wallet, papers, orother means of identification.

  "Brand my tumbleweed salad," Chow grumbled, "he sure wasn't takin' nochances on people findin' out who he is! Which proves he's some sort o'crooked cowpoke! Honest ones ain't afeared o' showin' their own brand!"

  The man muttered something angrily in a foreign tongue. Chow merelypressed down harder with his knee. "What'll we do with him, boss?"

  "Let him up, Chow," Tom said. "Security should be here any second."

  Even as he spoke, Tom glimpsed a jeep speeding toward them in thedistance. The young inventor knew what had happened. Since the strangerdid not have the special electronic wrist amulet worn by all Swiftemployees, his presence had automatically shown up on the masterradarscope. A security squad was coming to investigate.

  As Chow released the man, he got to his feet slowly. Then, withoutwarning, he suddenly butted the cook square in the stomach. Chow wasknocked sprawling!

  Before Tom could counter the surprise attack, the man's fist crackedagainst his cheekbone. Tom, though stunned, lashed out. More punchesflew back and forth. Tom landed a stinging blow to his opponent'smidriff, then took a punishing one himself.

  Suddenly Tom felt the stranger's hand clawing at his pocket for the keyto the gate. With all his wiry strength, Tom locked his arms around theman and wrestled him to the ground.

  The stranger fought like a tiger. But a second later a jeep screeched toa stop. Three security guards, led by stocky Phil Radnor, leaped out.Within moments they had the man subdued.

  Tom quickly briefed the security men on what had happened.

  "All right, mister, start talking!" snapped Radnor, head security policeofficer.

  The man's only reply was a scowl of rage.

  "Okay, take him away till he cools off," Tom ordered.

  Disheveled and still panting, the man was bundled into the jeep anddriven off to the security building.

  Tom arrived there by motor scooter several minutes later. Harlan Ames,the slim, dark-haired security chief of Enterprises, had taken charge ofthe case, and the prisoner was now being fingerprinted and photographed.

  "Any leads?" Tom inquired.

  Ames shook his head. "He won't talk and we've nothing on him in ourfiles. His clothes have no tags or laundry marks, but I'd say they're offoreign make."

  Tom nodded. "He's definitely foreign. He spoke with an accent and healso muttered something at Chow--I didn't catch it, but it certainlywasn't in English."

  Ames frowned. "I don't like the looks of this, skipper. He may be aspy."

  "Have you notified the police?" Tom asked.

  "Right. Also the FBI. They're on the way right now to pick him up. Maybethey'll be able to worm something out of him."

  Tom spent the morning in routine work in the big double office which heshared with his father in Enterprises' main building. It was equippedwith huge twin modern desks, deep-pile carpeting, and roomy leatherchairs.

  Each of the two inventors had his own drawing board, designed to swingout from the wall at the press of a button. Small scale models of someof their most famous inventions were also placed about the office,including a red-and-silver replica of Tom's first rocket ship, the _StarSpear_; a blue plastic model of the jetmarine in which he had fought aband of undersea pirates; and also a gleaming silvery model of Tom'slatest, unique space craft, the _Cosmic Sailer_.

  Because of his father's absence in Washington, the burden ofadministering the vast experimental station now fell on Tom's youthfulshoulders. Telephone calls, letters, and other detailed work occupiedhim until noon.

  Chow broke in, bringing a lunch tray with milk, a hot chicken sandwich,and a chocolate eclair. Tom ate hungrily.

  "Kind o' peps up the ole supercharger, eh?" said Chow, lingering tochat.

  "Sure does," Tom agreed.

  "Wal, jest remember that, an' don't go missin' any meals--or sleep,either," Chow advised as
he gathered up the tray. "A brainy young hombrelike you needs plenty o' rest an' vitamins to keep from burnin' himselfout."

  "I'll remember." Tom grinned affectionately as the leathery-faced oldTexan took his leave. The Swifts had first met Chow when they were on anatomic research expedition in the Southwest. Chow had become so attachedto Tom that he had returned to Shopton with the Swifts as a permanentemployee.

  Soon after Chow left the office, the telephone rang. Tom took the calland had just finished talking with Harlan Ames when Bud came strollingin.

  "Any more news on that nut who jumped you this morning?" the young flierasked. "Ames told me about it."

  "Not yet, but there may be soon," Tom said. "Harlan just phoned and saidhe'd had a call from Washington, asking us to stand by the videophone atone-thirty sharp."

  Ames arrived in person shortly before the scheduled time. Moments later,a red signal flashed on the control board of the Swifts' private TVnetwork. Tom flicked on the videophone and two men appeared on thescreen.

  One was Blake, the Swifts' Washington, D.C., telecaster. He introducedthe other man, a calm-faced, balding individual in a dark suit.

  "This is John Thurston of the Central Intelligence Agency, Tom," Blakesaid. "He thought it might be better to discuss this with you face toface."

  Tom, Bud, and Ames were also visible to the pair in Washington.

  "Glad to know you, sir," Tom said, and introduced his companions.

  "We've identified the man you captured this morning," Thurston began."He's in the United States on a French passport under the name ofJacques Renard. But we've just learned from the International PoliceOrganization that he's actually a Brungarian. His name is Samson Narko."

  Tom and Ames exchanged startled glances. In the past, certain Brungarianfactions had been responsible for some of the most fiendish plots everperpetrated against the Swifts.

  "Unfortunately, that's not all," Thurston went on. "Interpol believesthat Narko is also a member of the same rebel outfit with whom you'vehad trouble before."

  Tom was dismayed by the news. "I sure thought that group had beensmashed!" he said. Soon after Tom had balked their attempts to seize thesatellite Nestria, the rebel ringleaders had reportedly been arrestedand tried for treason.

  "It now appears," Thurston explained, "that only one segment wasquelled. Other members of the antigovernment movement are active againand are said to be strongly organized."

  The CIA man related even more sinister news. It was suspected that alarger nation--by aiding the rebels--was planning a coup to take overBrungaria. They had already subverted various government agencies andwere sending their own professors to staff the Brungarian technicalschools. It was all part of their insidious fifth-column pattern.

  "Many top Brungarian officials have joined the plotters," Thurstonadded, "and it's now becoming very difficult for anyone to enter orleave the country."

  Ames asked for information on any rebel sympathizers known to be in theUnited States. Thurston was able to tell him very little.

  "We keep strict tabs, of course, on all Brungarians entering thiscountry," Thurston explained. "But even though we screen them carefully,a rebel agent like Narko may slip in--usually on a stolen or fakedpassport."

  When the telecast ended, Tom, Bud, and Ames discussed the news grimly.

  "What if Narko has pals working with him?" Bud conjectured.

  "If he does," Tom said, "they may try carrying through Narko's mission."

  "I'll station extra guards around the outer wall on twenty-four-houralert," Ames promised.

  Tom approved this measure wholeheartedly, but the purpose of Narko'ssecret mission remained a mystery. Why had he tried to force his wayinto Enterprises? What was he after? There was little hope of resolvingthese questions, since United States Intelligence had learned of therebel movement itself only within the past few days. Thurston had askedTom and his companions to treat the information as confidential.

  "I'd better get back to work," Tom decided after Bud and Ames had lefthis office. Tom sat down at his drawing board and began to sketch outsome rough ideas for a vehicle to house the "brain energy" from space.

  Tom wondered if the brain would be able to perform actions by itself,given the proper mechanical output devices. Or would he have to help itfunction via an electronic computer to digest incoming information orstimuli and then to respond through servo controls?

  The problem was so baffling and complex that Tom became completelyoblivious to the passage of time. He sketched out plan after plan, onlyto crumple and discard each one.

  Suddenly a disturbing thought jarred the young inventor out of hisconcentration. Perhaps the Brungarian rebel scientists had now figuredout how to decode the radio messages from the Swifts' space friends!

  If so, when the brain energy was launched toward earth, they might tryto divert it to their own receiving setup!